Bits and Pieces

Our recent Nor'easter has diminished. I'll miss it as I like the cloudy rainy days and wind. Temperatures have leveled to the mid-seventies with low humidity. The dryness gives me drive.

I've purged my office. It's clean, less cluttered and the dust has all but been eliminated. Yesterday I humped six huge garbage bags of junk to the trash container and with each trip I dumped years of memories. I'm sure I made some bum very happy as he dumpster dived last night.

Anyone want a 1951 model Burroughs cash register? It works.

*****

Our group met here at the shop last evening. We've agreed to cancel our table at the monthly gun show, for reasons we'll not discuss. We have though agreed to attend and sell at a later date, perhaps early next year. Shucks.

The group will have its monthly work day in a couple of weeks and should be fun. After our planned projects are completed we'll hit the firing range and blast vast quantities of small caliber lead down range. We'll restrict ourselves to small lead as hunting season is underway and its a real pain in the rear to explain dozens of bullet riddled bodies hanging from deer stands. Laws kinda funny about such stuff.

What tics me off is these Fudd's are well aware their hunting grounds back our firing range. It's a shame they can't be sports about it and wear bright orange targets on their backs.

But what 'da heck, .22's are cheap.

*****

Now, a chapter from the daily news without commentary....

I've had at least a half dozen customers come in and complain they've lost their medical insurance. All are self-employed. One man explained if he chose the plan offered by his agent/insurance company, his monthly premiums would double and his deductible jumps from three thousand to seven per year.

Silence.

*****

Under a box in my office I've just found a stash of long lost military brass.  In total, about a thousand pieces. I'll not count. Seems to be a mixture of (in civilian terms) '06 and .308.

It's time to hit the bench.

Later, and hey, be careful out there.

Stephen
  





    

Good Evening

I've found dust is best eaten with a few grains of salt. Or better yet, made into soup. I've spent the last two days giving my shop a top to bottom deep clean. I even tried to enlist the help from a few customers. Most of the bums turned me down cold. I've been home for several hours and still taste the dirt and mold spores.

Behind the shop there is a new pile of discarded junk, piled black bags and exactly six cardboard boxes of old magazines and books, about fifteen metal coffee cans and a fairly good 1985 copy of Playboy, centerfold intact.

My office refrigerator has been defrosted (it took two hours in our heat) and now shines and smells great. I still need to dust my desk and computer but the toilet sparkles and gives the scent of high mountain pines. Sadly my office carpet, though deeply vacuumed, still holds spots. One rich dark stain, as a result of spilled coffee, I blame on Duke or Senior, since both are slobs of the highest order.

I tried but failed to remove magnet and tape held drawings and one class paper, gifts from Little Bit to me, from the side of my gun cabinet and frig....they will remain, besides they give my office a cluttered charm. Certain items are sacred.

High on a back shelf was discovered fifteen years of back calendars, sixteen coffee table books, and a long lost paper bag of framed art and photos, a twenty share stock certificate (Winn-Dixie, worthless) and six copies of First Edition magazine, and several different calibers of handgun ammunition now housed within a medicine bottle.

I really should hire undocumented help.

Then again hired help might chunk great treasures into the can and tick me off. Like the one artificial rose Little Bit gave me for Valentines Day, or my Vietnam stick-pin taken from one of my old hats which now graces the back door frame. A special broken thermometer, the string of fifty caliber ammo along the back wall, or any of the many research books stacked high on the green cabinet - all weighted by an unopened green can of gun grease. I just cannot take the chance.

So, I guess I'll keep the job, dust and all.


Stephen